


We Are Only Here In Moments

by dorkilysoulless (custodian)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Closeted Dean, Established Relationship, M/M, New Year's Eve, Northern Kansas is frankly kind of depressing, Pizza Interruptus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 13:24:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8892391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/custodian/pseuds/dorkilysoulless
Summary: Meeting Cas at a Super 8 in Hastings for New Year's Eve isn't much, but it's what Dean's got.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2016 SPN Holiday Mixtape Challenge. Beta work by treefrogie84, who is awesome.
> 
> Inspired by [New Year's Eve by The Ike Reilly Assassination](https://youtu.be/kchWLoFWf9k).

It’s not quite seven when Dean picks his keys up off the table and shrugs into his jacket.  Sam, being Sam, notices.

“Little early to start ringing it in, isn’t it?”

“It’s called pre-gaming, Sammy.”

“No, it isn’t.”  Sam’s eyebrows knit together as he leans back in his chair, away from the antique atlas he’s been poking at for the last couple of hours.  “Let me guess: you’re ditching your usual place and tying one on in, what, Salina?”

“New Year’s Eve on a Saturday night?  Hell yes, I am.”  He claps a hand on his brother’s shoulder as he passes.  “Don’t wait up.”    

“Believe me, I wasn’t planning on it.”

“Yeah, whatever.  Enjoy your books.”  

Dean springs up the steps and out the Bunker’s main entrance, hissing as the icy chill of a clear December night stings his face.  He pulls his jacket close against the cold, watches his breath condense in the air.  Dead leaves crunch under his boots as he makes his way along the gravel shoulder to the Impala.

The engine roars to life, and Dean relaxes into the seat.  It’s been full dark for hours, the moon barely a slim crescent, and the northern Kansas sky is full of stars.  It’s a beautiful night for a drive.  

He cranks the heat up and guns it when he hits US-281.  He makes a single stop in Red Cloud for gas and a coffee at the Casey’s.  He picks up a pack of pork rinds for Cas on impulse, drops them in the seat beside him.  Smiles at the sight of them in the passenger seat as he pulls back out onto the highway.

The pork rinds somehow make it real: he’s driving up to Hastings to spend New Year’s Eve with Cas.  They’re gonna kiss at midnight, and actually share a bed for once, and he’s been on edge for a week because what if it doesn’t happen, what if it doesn’t work out, what if a case comes up, what if...

Well, what if someone finds out?

Dad would kill him, but Dad’s been gone for a long-ass time.  Mom...well, he doesn’t know.  She’s not what he expected, and they’re getting to know each other, but he’s got no idea what she’d say, or if she’d still love him.  And Sam?

Sam was a college boy in California, but he also thinks Dean’s driving two hours so he can bang some girl who’s drunk and lonely and nameless.  Sam’d be cool with it because he’s Sam, but Dean can’t kid himself that Sam would look at him the same after finding out.

He’s not ready.  He’s probably never going to be ready.  

Dean turns on the radio.  The signal’s rough this far out, but he sings along with Seger and Speedwagon, Zeppelin and Golden Earring anyway.  Every song gets him a little closer, every song is a little clearer, and by time Hastings starts cropping up around him, a few buildings at a time, the static is long gone.  

He turns down the volume and grabs his phone, dials with his thumb.  

It rings twice before Cas’ voice comes across the line, low and familiar.  “You’re in town?”

“Just pulled onto Burlington.  Should be there in about fifteen.”

“I’ll meet you at the door.”

And yeah, he thinks as he tucks his phone in his jacket pocket, it’s kind of fucked up that meeting Cas at a Super 8 an hour away from the Bunker and creeping in the side door is the highlight of his month.  Doesn’t mean his heart isn’t trying to fight its way out of his chest.  Shit, he’s got  _ sweaty palms _ for Christ’s sake.  What is he, twelve?

Dean spots Cas’ silhouette as he turns the Impala into the parking lot.  He parks in the first space he finds, grabs the pork rinds, and jogs up to the building.

“I, uh, brought you these,” he says, awkwardly pushing them into Cas’ hands before shoving his own hands deep into his jacket pockets.  It’s all he can do to stop himself from latching on to Cas right here, kissing him, and --

Cas smiles at the bag, then at Dean.  “The room’s upstairs.”

He follows Cas up the beige stairwell and down the hall in silence, anxious and vigilant to any sound or movement, but there is none.

Cas unlocks the room with his key card.  Dean follows him in.

They wait for the door to lock before they touch. Dean’s fingers, tentative, find Cas’ and lace between them as he presses in close.  Cas brushes a shy kiss across Dean’s lips, which he returns with something hungrier.  Deeper.  Cas moans against his mouth and, God help him, Dean wishes they didn’t have to make do with haphazard hook-ups and hushed phone calls.

“Damn it,” Dean whispers, huffing out a quiet laugh as he combs his fingers through Cas’ hair.  “You’d think I’d be better at this.”  

“At what?”

“Meeting someone in a hotel room for sex.”  He sighs, tries to take in the sight of Cas, curious.  Close.  “Though, uh, I guess, maybe, that’s the problem?”

“You don’t want to have sex?”

“Oh, I definitely want to have sex,” Dean says, ducking his head so he can brush his lips along the side of Cas’ neck.  He shifts his right leg so he’s pressed against Cas’ hip and grinds lightly so his cock can remind him what’s really important here.  “I want you out of those clothes so I can touch every inch of your skin.”  

Cas shrugs out of his coat and suit jacket and lets them fall to the floor in a heavy pile, which is hot as hell, but nothing compared to the way he practically lifts Dean by the waist and drops him on the bed with a growl.  Dean takes his opening and pulls Cas in by the belt, wraps his legs around Cas’ hips, and leans up for another long kiss.  

They grind, fingers digging into fabric, pulling shirts free.  Dean has to wiggle and twist to get out of his jacket and his flannel, and then Cas' fingers are all over and under the worn fabric of his t-shirt.  

A knock at the door startles them still.  Dean’s eyes flit to his jacket, wonders if he has time to grab a weapon, but then a muted voice announces itself through the door: “Pizza.”

“You ordered pizza?” Dean sputters, pulling himself up and back against the headboard as Cas fumbles his belt back into some kind of order.  

“I wasn’t sure you’d eaten.  And, given the extent to which I anticipate we’ll exert ourselves--”

“Which we could be doing right now.” 

Cas rolls his eyes as he slips off the bed to answer the door.  

Dean adjusts his cock in his jeans and listens as Cas pays the delivery driver.  He catches sight of himself in the mirror, wonders if he’s visible from the door.  Cas returns a moment later with two pizzas and an order of breadsticks.

“I can’t believe you ordered pizza.”

“I can provide you with physical evidence if you like,” Cas deadpans as he arranges the boxes on the small desk by the window.  

Dean grins, shakes his head.  He reaches out to Cas when he returns to the bed, welcomes him back between his legs with kisses.  He tugs at Cas’ shirt, freeing the hem from the waistband of his slacks.  Cas dips his head into the crook of Dean’s shoulder and nips lightly at the soft skin of his neck.  

As if on cue, Dean’s stomach growls.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean grumbles, but he can feel the broad smile crack across Cas’ face against his skin.  

“I’ll get the pizza.”

They take the opportunity to settle in.  Dean finds the remote, clicks through the channels until he finds something both of them like.  Cas pulls a couple bottles of beer out of the mini-fridge.  They both take their shoes and socks off and and nestle together up against the headboard, pizza and breadsticks laid out in front of them.  

It’s an odd meal, Dean doing the bulk of the eating, but Cas has a bottle in his hand, and they’re together, snuggled up and watching TV, and the whole thing is just...

“This is good,” Dean says, heart anxious, through a mouthful of pizza.  

“I’ll be sure to fill out the customer survey.”

“Not this,” Dean says, gesturing at the food before he swallows.  “This.  Us.”

“Oh.”  

Dean closes the pizza box, sets it on the chair next to the bed, then gets up on his knees to straddle Cas.  He leans down, one hand on the headboard for support, and kisses him, gentle and serious.  Cas’ hands find his hips, thumbs skirting under his t-shirt.  Their touches are unhurried now, not like earlier.  Dean slides his hands down Cas' chest, enjoying the smooth feel of fabric over warm skin.  

Cas’ hands slide up under his shirt, and Dean lifts his arms so Cas can pull his shirt free and let it drop to floor.  His fingers find Cas’ belt buckle.  He gives it a tug -- not quite playful, more a statement of intent -- and Cas raises his hips, grinding up against Dean while he digs into Dean’s thighs with his fingers.  Dean works the leather free, undoes the button and the hook-and-bar of Cas’ slacks and settles his fingers on the waistband.  

He licks his lips, looks up at Cas’ face.  Cas nods.  

Dean slides the zipper down with careful fingers, then tugs Cas’ pants down his thighs.  He pauses to admire Cas’ body: his strong thighs and calves, his solid torso.  Dean makes a space for himself between Cas’ legs before nuzzling at his inner thighs, his balls.  He brushes his mouth over the cotton covering Cas’ hardening cock.  

“Dean,” Cas whispers, watching him through half-lidded eyes.  

“I’ve got you, babe,” Dean says, fingers hooking under the waistband of Cas’ briefs.  Cas raises his hips just a little, and Dean slides them free.  There’s a bit of wiggling on both their parts to get them all the way down his legs, but Dean’s not complaining.  He touches Cas' cock, runs his thumb along it before taking it fully in hand.  He kisses his way up one thigh, slides his shoulder under Cas’ knee, all the while keeping his hand in motion, pumping Cas’ cock harder, teasing the underside of the head with his thumb now and again.  

The soft sounds Cas makes are his whole world.  

He slides his free hand down the outside of Cas’ thigh, up over his hip, pushing Cas’ shirt up out of the way.  Watches Cas unbutton it while Dean works him with his hand.  Dean’s own cock is hard in his jeans, but he doesn’t touch himself.  Not yet.  He just gives Cas a wink, then licks the crease where Cas’ thigh meets his body, kisses the spot, then moves lower.  He nuzzles and nibbles Cas’ balls, relishes the warm, clean smell of Cas' skin.

“Yes,” Cas whispers. “Fuck.  Dean,  _ yes _ .”

And damn, he can’t wait anymore.  Dean reaches down with one hand, undoes his own belt and jeans.  Shimmies them down a couple of inches.  Brings out his own cock and balls up over the elastic of his boxer briefs.

His feelings about this part aren’t complicated.  He wants Cas, wants Cas’ cock in his mouth, wants to press against every part of him, wants to get him off.  He wants it with Cas just as much as he can remember wanting it with anyone.  Maybe more, even, because he wants to stay with Cas, be with him.  Spending New Year’s Eve with him is...fuck.  It’s already so good because he knows they’ve got the night, got the morning, got a dozen hunts and hook-ups after.  

Dean licks a wide stripe along the base of Cas’ cock and then takes it into his mouth a little at a time.  He savors the thickness of it on his tongue, the way Cas pushes up so slightly with his hips, Cas’ fingers stroking his hair, cupping the back of his head lightly.  Dean’s got one fist holding Cas’ cock steady while his other hand is down between his own legs, working himself in rhythm with his mouth.  

Cas’ fingers slide down below his jaw, lift his face up.  

“I want you,” he whispers, face flushed and solemn, eyes shining.  

“Fuck,” Dean whispers.  Swallows.  Nods, heart banging in his chest, expansive, crazy for this.  He looks around, spots a plastic Walgreen’s bag on the table, and gets up to retrieve it.  

There’s a box of condoms, a bottle of lube, and--

“You got me a pie,” he says.

Cas strips out of his shirt and tosses it into the pile with his trousers.  “They only had the Hostess kind.  Is that alright?”

And look, okay, there are words Dean Winchester doesn’t say out loud, but damn if he’s not feeling them right now.  

“It’s perfect,” he says, and brings the bag with him to the bed.  

Cas stands to meet him.  Their kisses feel like ritual now, gentle but building.  Cas shoves at Dean’s jeans and underwear, and Dean kicks them the rest of the way down.   He lets Cas lead him onto the bed on his hands and knees.  He’s buzzing, making soft noises as Cas kisses his back and his thighs.  Cas teases his ass with soft touches, and Dean feels the odd tingle of angel mojo before Cas’ tongue makes its first, slow swipe.

(He grins in spite of himself because he remembers that argument, and how Cas had demolished it with unflinching logic and the most angelic of eyerolls before rimming him until Dean came so hard he could barely speak English for the better part of an hour afterward.)  

Now Dean just lets himself enjoy the feeling, the careful way Cas opens him up by eating his ass, working in with lube-slick fingertips, sliding deeper a little at a time until Dean is begging for it, fucking back onto Cas’ hand.

Cas moves back against the headboard, leading Dean to face him, kiss him.  Dean straddles his thighs, already trembling.  He’s ready, he wants this, and fuck, every time is like jumping off a bridge in the best fucking way.  

He helps Cas with the condom, then rises up, slides forward.

“Beautiful,” Cas whispers up to him.

Dean breathes, eyes closed and trembling as he lowers himself onto Cas’ cock, gradually adjusting to the fullness of it inside him.  He leans down to rest his forehead against Cas’, to share breath with him, to kiss him as his muscles relax, welcome the intrusion.  It’s only minutes but it could be hours and he wouldn’t care because it’s so good.  It makes him feel open in ways he can’t describe.

He cants his hips slightly, rises up maybe an inch, and starts to move.  

Cas is strong.  Dean forgets sometimes, but it’s impossible to ignore the way Cas supports Dean’s weight, holding him steady, helping him ride like it’s nothing.  With anyone else, Dean would probably fight that.  With Cas, he loves it.  He feels safe.  Wanted.  Hell, he feels loved fiercely by Cas, who is so impossible, so amazing.  

Dean loves being  _ his.   _

He moans softly into Cas’ hair.  He’s so gone on this, getting filled, getting fucked, getting held, tasting Cas’ tongue, breathing him in.  He’s got his hand on his own cock, though, good as this feels, he barely needs it.  He groans when Cas pulls him down, practically crushes them together, and then flips them so Dean is on his back.  

Dean keeps his hips up, winds up with one ankle over Cas’ shoulder, and  _ fuck  _ that angle is goddamn amazing.  Cas kisses his calf, murmurs words Dean doesn’t understand against his skin, clasps a hand on Dean’s thigh to keep him in place.

Cas has tells, and Dean knows them: a certain tilt to his bowed head, the way he scrunches his eyes closed, the slack line of his mouth.  His rhythm changes, too, like he’s straining to control himself, and he whispers Dean’s name over and over like an incantation.  Dean digs one hand into the bedspread for leverage and bucks up, pushing Cas to fuck him harder, deeper, take everything he needs.  

Cas' climax is...well, the lightbulbs don’t explode, but Dean can feel his hair stand up on end when his angel comes, shuddering, grappling Dean’s thighs so tight enough to leave bruises.  He rides Cas’ last few erratic thrusts, rolling his hips.

Dean thinks, for the barest second, he might see the shadow of wings.  

He whimpers when Cas slides out of him, but Cas is swift to replace his cock with warm fingers.  He lays kisses down Dean’s body, from his collarbone down to his navel, then lower still until Dean can feel soft breath against his cock.

“Please,” he whimpers, rocking his hips up almost involuntarily.

Cas opens his mouth, uses the tip of his tongue to tease and slick the head of Dean’s cock, drags his bottom lip in its wake, and then -- mercifully -- begins to suck.  His mouth is soft and slick, and his tongue…

Dean knows he can’t last, and doesn’t worry about trying.  He digs his nails into Cas’ shoulders when he comes, and then again when Cas swallows, then swallows again, sucking him clean until Dean is panting, overwhelmed.  

After, they curl together on the bed, the bedspread rumpled beneath them.  The television’s still going.  Dean glances at the clock. Just a little after nine. They’ve got hours.  

“You look happy,” Cas says, tracing lines on Dean’s shoulder.  

“You think?”  He presses a kiss to Cas’ temple.

“You did seem to enjoy yourself.” 

“You know what I mean,” Dean says, rolling his eyes.  He adjusts his position on the pillows beside Cas.  “Making time like this, holidays...it’s not something I’ve done much.  It’s good.”

Cas hums assent, kisses Dean’s shoulder.  

“I mean, it’s not like what everyone else gets.  The whole champagne dinner party thing, and the ball-drop.  Kissing at midnight under the fireworks.  But it’s good.”

Cas tilts his head.  “You’d like that?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, so quiet he almost can’t hear himself.  “We couldn’t do it here.  We’d have to go to, like, Kansas City at least.  Or Denver, and even then--”

“Dean.”

Dean sighs, lets Cas hold him tighter.   “Maybe I just need to get over it.  Rip the Band-Aid off, and screw what everyone thinks.  I mean, I’m practically forty.  Could be my new year’s resolution: stop giving a shit what people think about what my dick likes.”

“Things like this?”  Cas slips a hand up Dean’s thigh, grazes his teeth against the crook of Dean’s neck.  

“Fuck,” he murmurs, bares his throat a little more.  “Yeah, exactly like that, though you’re probably gonna want to give it another twenty minutes or so.”  

Cas chuckles, warm and hot against him, then slides in under Dean’s arm to rest his head on his chest.  “I wonder if they do fireworks here.”

Dean shakes his head.  “Probably not.  Well, not like city stuff.  Omaha, though, does a whole big thing.  Caught part of it once on a hunt a few years back.”

Cas licks his lips.  “Do you think if we started driving now, we’d make it in time?”

“To Omaha?”  Dean looks at the clock.  Does the math.  “Maybe?  We’ll have to haul balls down I-80, but--”

He looks at Cas.  Grins.  

“Get your pants on, Sunshine.  Let’s do this.”

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes, because I am That Nerd(TM).
> 
> There is nothing in Northern Kansas. This is only a slight exaggeration in the sense that Northern Kansas exists, and that there are a few people there, and that those people have the basics of infrastructure. For things like hotel chains, rock stations, gay bars, etc., you have to go well beyond Mankato and Smith Station. That means heading up into Nebraska or over to larger population centers in Eastern Kansas.
> 
> The Super 8 where they meet exists, as does the Casey's in Red Cloud, and the Omaha Holiday Lights Festival fireworks display.


End file.
